Bright Shining Dark
by Writegirl
Summary: Follow-up to Sometimes at Night. cant think of anything else to say, so come see for yourself.Chapter 6 NEW!!!!!!!
1. Default Chapter

Title: Bright Shining Dark  
Disclaimer: None of the Characters belong to me accept for Ziada, so don't sue. All characters are the   
property of Margaret Weiss, Tracy Hickman ,TOR, and whoever else owns them.  
  
Follow-up to Sometimes at Night. Because you guys wanted more. ^_~  
  
  
It was the slight burn of liquid upon his hand that let Raistlin know that he was shaking. Slowly,   
he cupped his hand around his wrist before setting the full cup down on his desk and reading the parchment   
again. Almost absently he blotted the small drops of willowroot tea before they ruined the paper. The   
message it contained was simple and to the point, leaving no room for negotiation.  
  
Raistlin Majere,  
Your presence has been demanded at the next meeting of the Conclave, at the vernal equinox. The   
presence of you apprentice has also been requested by Ladona. Rooms have been prepared for you stay.  
Justarius  
  
"Shalafi?"  
Raistlin barely acknowledged the softly spoken word, or the soothing cool that replaced the   
throbbing heat of his burn. Instead, he reached under the parchment he had just read and pulled out a   
smaller one, filled with childish drawings of trees and rivers. Underneath this was his brothers scrawling   
hand:  
Raist,  
I guess this means you're an uncle again! Tika delivered a healthy boy last night. We hope that   
you can make it to the christening. We're putting it off until we know everyone is coming.  
Caramon  
  
Dalamar quickly read over the paper, noticing the slight smile that lifted his teacher's features. It   
was not the brittle, mocking smile that he had come to know in his years living with Raistlin. It was softer,   
gentler, as was the man himself. Since returning from the abyss he was a ghost of his former self. Still self-  
contained, but at the same time more open, more caring. Dalamar had been shocked when his master   
hovered over him when he caught the Red Fever, soothing his cough and spreading balm on the burning   
patches that covered his chest and neck.  
This was not to say that his ability to teach Dalamar had diminished. While usually quiet and   
absent-minded, his mind was still sharp when it came to magic. They were the times when he seemed to   
revert back to the old Raistlin, the one full of impatience, demanding perfection. Once there had been a fire   
in him that Dalamar both feared and envied. Now it was banked, burned down to little more than fluttering   
embers. The magic was still there, but he no longer wielded it with the same relish that he had before. The   
ambition that once drove him seemed to have been exercised. Now Dalamar saw that, instead of searching   
for dominion, more often than not he reached for a book and a comfortable position in a chair.  
"We have been ordered to the Tower for the next meeting of the Conclave," Raistlin said, finally   
turning his blue eyes to his student, "I suggest you begin packing, as we leave tomorrow."  
Dalamar nodded his head before leaving the study, his eyes searching out the dark corners of the   
staircase, finding the bodiless eyes there, staring at him without passion before they disappeared. Wryly he   
remembered the first night he had spent in the tower so many years ago. He had been too frightened to   
sleep, though he would never admit that to anyone. The next morning when he arrived for his lessons with   
bags under his eyes Raistlin had simply smiled coldly before starting in. It took time, but he was able to   
finally sleep restfully.  
Taking the winding staircase allowed him time to think, and not for the first time he thought about   
the change that had occurred in his shalafi. He had been ordered to kill Raistlin if he succeeded in   
challenging the Dark Queen, thereby preventing a battle between them that would destroy their world. Too   
many things had gone wrong that night, from Kitaria's betrayal and his wounding to the attack on   
Palanthas. He'd watched as the Dark Queen brought Raistlin to his knees while he was trying to get   
Caramon to leave him behind. Heard the screams of the dragons that surrounded the portal, felt the   
scorching heat that poured from the abyss. Then it ended, so abruptly that the silence replacing it seemed   
just as loud, only broken by the ragged breathing of Chrysania, and the silent dripping of the water clock.  
He was about the release the breath he was holding when the portal seemed to shimmer, and a   
figure came out of it, a woman with hair and clothes flowing around her as if she were floating. A dark   
bundle was set at their feet, and then she was gone. That bundle contained his shalafi, though he was not   
the one he had known before. Whatever trials he had endured in that endless moment in the abyss had left   
their mark on him. The golden skin that had plagued him for years was gone, revealing the healthy pink of   
a newborn. He features were no longer gaunt, only tired, though his hair was still white.  
Caramon had carried his brother to his room, and both had watched over him. After the fifth day   
he wondered if his master would awake at all, though he continued to care for the man, with Caramon's   
help. By the tenth day, Raistlin was conscious, though extremely weak. It was then that they noticed that   
his eyes, once yellow hourglasses, were clear, blue orbs.  
It took weeks for him to be able to leave his bed, and even then he had to walk with the help of his   
staff. The cough that he had endured was gone, and as time went by it seemed as if whatever malady he had   
suffered had left him, along with the curse of his eyes and skin. When Caramon asked him to return to   
Solace, he'd declined, opting instead to remain in the Tower with its shadows and demons, much like the   
man himself.  
  
The main meeting room of the Tower at Wayrith was large, its ceiling and walls fading into   
shadows that seemed to echo eternity. The floor was black, reflecting anything that stood on it. More than   
once Raistlin wondered at the reason for that. To unnerve, surely, for it gave the sense of falling into   
nothing, of standing on nothing but ones own reflection. A stray thought entered his mind, a name that   
teased at his memory, that of the man who had designed the Tower, but he pushed it aside. They were   
another man's memories, not his own, and he wanted no part in them.  
It was the first time since he had taken the test that he saw the Tower as it was. Before, his eyes   
had been able to pierce through the illusion, to see the crumbling stone, to watch the obsidian beneath his   
feet tremble and crack, and he enjoyed the sight. Instead of making him uneasy, it comforted.  
"It is good to see you well, Justarius." He said, looking at the red-robed man who sat before him,   
and meant it. In all his dealings with other mages, Justarius was perhaps the only one who hadn't feared   
him.  
Justarius nodded, " The same to you Raistlin Majere, though in truth, we believed that you would   
ignore our summons, as you had so many times before."  
Raistlin said nothing, merely let his gaze move to Ladona, who sat stiffly in her chair, watching   
him as if he were a hungry tiger. There was a time when that warning pose would have pleased him, but   
now it only served to tire him. Whoever he had been was gone, and he wondered what it would take for   
them to see that.  
"I see that you have recovered your strength," Ladona said, her tone careful, controlled. There had   
been a time in which her greatest fear laid in the life of this man, and she wasn't sure if that time had   
passed. " We had been told that the curses that you endured since your test were broken, but many of us   
remained skeptical."  
"I have paid by debts in full," Raistlin answered, locking his eyes with hers. Even without his eyes   
and skin, she shivered, though the move was concealed by her robes. "The gods saw fit to allow me to   
redeem myself."  
Ladona raised an eyebrow, " Did they?"  
Raistlin refused to answer, instead, he turned his gaze back to Justarius, "I was called before the   
Conclave, and here I stand. What is it you desire of me?"  
The look that passed between Justarius and Ladona was swift, so much so that unless someone had   
been anticipating it, it would have gone unnoticed, but Raistlin saw it. The better part of his life had been   
spent searching for such small signs for the power it would give you over an enemy, or temporary ally.  
Unimpressed with their conspiratorial looks, Raistlin turned his attention to the white robe that had   
taken Par Salian's place as head of the order. Instead of wearing robes, he wore a white sash around his   
waist, which seemed to serve as a kind of belt for the white trousers he wore. A white vest barely covered   
his large chest, which was heavily muscled and tattooed. One of the northern sailors, he thought, judging   
from the earrings and beads that were attached to his sash. The name teased at his mind, but he couldn't pin   
point it. The black man returned his gaze with one of his own, assessing him just as thoroughly.  
Raistlin returned his attention to Justarius, who was absently rubbing his leg, a reminder of his   
own Test. "I will ask again, what is it that the Conclave wishes of me?"  
Ladona answered, "I have held my position for the better part of thirty years, Majere. The time has   
come for me to step down for another."  
It was Justarius who dispelled any doubt that statement might have held. "Raistlin Majere, as the   
Heads of our Orders, we invite you to take Ladona's place when she steps down five days hence."  
"No."  
The word was spoken softly, and was almost lost in the large room, but the three before him heard.  
Ladona visibly relaxed, the ramrod straightness of her back bending slightly. Justarius simply watched, a   
puzzled expression on his face while the white robe sat, seemingly unconcerned with the proceedings.  
"You refuse the mantle offered?" Justarius asked.  
Raistlin met his eyes, still mirrors for all their blue color. " I decline to take the mantle, though not   
out of disrespect."  
Justarius nodded, then turned his eyes to Dalamar. "As the apprentice of the Chosen, we ask that   
you, Dalamar, take the place of you Shalafi as the Chosen for your order."  
The dark elf turned his gaze to Raistlin, searching for something. The smallest smile was all it   
took. " As apprentice of the Chosen, I accept the mantle as Head of the Order of Black Robes."  
  
Two hours later Raistlin sat in his room, which resembled many in which he stayed, though of   
better quality than the majority. A fire burned in the hearth, though it gave more light than warmth. With   
his new eyes light was something of a burden. He had discovered, much by accident, that his vision was   
much improved in darkness, almost like that of a cat. At the moment they were fixed on Dalamar, who sat   
next to him, eyes trained on the fire with unnatural care.  
Dalamar opened his mouth to speak, but Raistlin answered his question before he could ask. "I   
turned down the mantle because I did not want it. The responsibility should fall on one who feels they are   
right for it."  
"And you did not?" The question, for all its directness, was spoken carefully.  
Raistlin sighed, "No, I did not. After all that you have seen, you should understand that. Besides,   
there is only so much that I can teach you, the rest you must learn on your own. In salur mylas shila."  
The apprentice has become master, Dalamar said to himself. He cast an almost rueful glance at the   
man next to him, wondering when he would see him again. There were several rituals he would have to   
endure before becoming head of his order, rituals that, like the Test, could be fatal to one unprepared.  
Almost unconsciously he moved a hand to his chest, to where Raistlin had made the mark of his hand as a   
sign of his treachery. The bleeding wounds that had plagued him for months after his shalafi's descent into   
time were gone, leaving only five dark marks, roughly the size of fingerprints, on his chest. It had been the   
first thing Raistlin had done when his strength returned.  
"What will you do?"  
Raistlin turned his eyes to the fire, absently brushing at a strand of snowy hair that fell before his   
eyes, "For years now my brother has asked something of me, and I have refused. I believe it is time I   
accept. I am going home, if only for a time."  
  
  
  
Okay, in defense of this story for those who write flames but do not include their email addresses   
so I can answer. One, I have read the dragonlance books, several times actually. I feel that yes, he is   
capable of feelings other than greed and hatred, though he hid them. I mean, come on, he didn't have the   
best of lives, and that would make anyone bitter. Look at him this way, what would you do if you were   
given a second chance? How would you feel, knowing what your greed had almost caused? And for those   
who've told me that he never loved anyone except for his mother, in the SoulForge, the first book of the   
Raistlin Chronicles, he falls in love with a girl, is even willing to give up his magic for her, to become a   
store clerk for her father, but he finds her with Caramon. Don't believe me, look for yourself, so there.  
  
Now, if you've survived that rant, thank you for reading my ramblings. Please leave feedback, I crave the   
stuff, feed the artist if you will, and don't worry, I don't bite unless asked. I can even stand flames, but if   
you flame me, all I ask if for you to leave your email address so that I can answer, and Im not rude, swear.   
Leave your email address anyway, because I like to thank people and answer any questions you might   
have.  
  
Love and stuff,  
Writegirl ^_~  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Title: Bright Shining Dark 2/?  
Disclaimer: All characters that you know belong to TOR, Weiss, and Hickman, and whoever else owns dragonlance. The characters that you don't know belong to my twisted imagination.  
  
  
Tika hurriedly scooped a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she worked. Two hours and Caramon would be home, and she would be forced to get back in bed, or in a chair, or anything else, as long as she wasn't on her feet. Despite the fact that it had been over a month since she delivered their last child, her husband insisted that she rest as often as possible, which in itself was not a bad thing.  
But they had an inn to run.  
And it was an undertaking that Tika had taken seriously since Otik turned over his much-guarded keys and recipes to her seven years before. She had spent the better part of her life working in the inn, though then it was a sprawling creation that winded itself through one of the largest Vallenwoods in Solace. So much had happened since she was that wide eyed, slightly jaded youth. Now the inn sat in a much younger tree, smaller, but no less so her home.  
A soft gurgle drew her attention to the small bundle that rested on the table in front of her, out of the way of the dough she was making. Pale blue eyes watched her as she worked, taking in her movements with an almost surreal intelligence. She smiled, pleased when her youngest son smiled back, and started laughing. Let Weird Megan tell her it was gas all she wanted too, Tika knew better.  
One moment Tika was hurriedly kneading dough, the next she found herself swung up in large arms, staring into the face of her exasperated, and somewhat bemused husband.  
"Don't say it," she said when he raised an eyebrow. "I've heard it all before."  
Caramon raised his other eyebrow, " And you still aren't listening." He said, planting a quick kiss on his wife's forehead before setting her down in a chair.  
"Someone has to do the baking around here," she muttered before aiming a quick kick at Caramon's shins, which he deftly avoided.  
"That's what Rebecca's for," he answered, looking around, "Where is she?"  
Tika cast a guilty glance at the floor before raising innocent eyes to her husbands, her wide green eyes clashing with his accusing brown ones, "What? She'd still alive. Maybe," Tika added, cutting her eyes to the back door.  
Caramon followed her eyes, and Tika imagined him thinking up some horrible fate that had befallen their serving girl. There were times when he was too gullible, " She went down too the lake with Bowin, you dolt," she said, settling further into her chair.   
Caramon smiled, "By winter those two will be married with a child on the way." He whispered, almost to himself.  
Tika perked up at that. The last time he had made such a prediction she had told him to go jump in the lake, and bring a barrel of the water back while he was at it. That Lena and Garol, two of the local teens, were no where near serious enough to consider settling down. Barely a month later she was baking cakes and serving beer to a wedding party.  
"Girl or boy?" she asked.  
"A..." Caramon trailed off, smiling, " You're not winning the pool again, so don't try it."  
Tika pouted for a moment before a whine caught their attention. "It looks like someone wants their papa."  
Caramon turned then, focusing his attention on the basket that lay on the table. Tika watched as he gently lifted the small boy, cradling him like he was precious glass. It was a picture that she would never get used to, watching such a large, hard man cradling a newborn, the look of wonder on his face almost too endearing. It hadn't changed since Tanin was born, and she doubted that it ever would.  
"Have you given thought to his name?" She asked, coming up behind her husband, leaning against him while she peeked down at their son.  
Even without looking, she knew Caramon was smiling, "Yeah. I have."  
Tika humphed, and asked, even though she knew she wouldn't get an answer, "Well?"  
Just as gently as he lifted the small child, Caramon placed him back in his makeshift cradle, smoothing the sheets over the boy, who never took his eyes off his father, "You'll find out," he said softly, then turned, picking his wife up. "And now, you need to lay down."  
"In the name of all that's... Caramon, I've been laying down all day!"  
Despite the pummeling on his arms, he didn't stop until they were in their bedroom, Tika placed firmly on the mattress, " And you need to lie down some more. Besides, its almost time to feed our son."  
  
  
The early spring air was crisp and inviting, heavy with the scent of fresh growth, Raistlin thought as he rode his horse. There had been a time when such a chill would have frozen his lungs and sent him into coughing fits that drew blood, but no more. The sun was warm on his black traveling clothes, which consisted of a long tunic and black trousers. He found it easier to deal with that than his long robes, especially when getting on and off of a horse. He had not been riding long, having opened a portal to take him the long route from Palanthas to Solace. He allowed himself to take the road from Crystalmer Lake into Solace, knowing that few people would be traveling it this time of day.  
In the distance he could see the remains of some of the older vallenwoods, scared by dragonfire from so many years ago. Among these remnants younger branches shot out, mute testament to the resilience of the ancient trees. Below these he could see the younger seedlings, grown almost to the height of their elders. Among these sturdy youths he could barely make out the swinging rope bridges of the town proper which drifted in the trees overhead. He was grateful that the setting sun was to his back, or else he would have been blinded by its brilliance. Spring was beginning to leave its mark on the trees that offered what little shade their new budding leaves could muster. The last time he made this trip had been near Solstice, when Strum was born. Then a thick blanket of snow covered the ground and the bare branches of the trees. While beautiful in its own right, he preferred the green of spring.  
"Home." He whispered to himself, turning his glance inward for a moment. This would be the first time in almost fifteen years that he would stay in solace for any substantial amount of time. Vague thoughts passed through his mind, most of them concerning the school that was still run outside Solace, though from what he had heard Master Theobold was almost too old to teach the classes anymore. Raistlin was sure he had more patience than his old teacher.  
The first sounds of children playing reached his ears as he rode into Solace proper, drawing his attention to a game of King of the Mountain. He was surprised to see a blond braid being wielded as a whip, effectively keeping the other children from attacking the stump that was the mountain. Dressed in a dirt-streaked shirt and dusty trousers she reminded him of Kitiara, though he saw none of the harshness of his sister in the child. Her innocence and youth were still there, and he could see that she would hold on to those with a death grip until old age.  
"Marta! What are you doing!?!"  
Raistlin watched as a matronly woman plucked the child off the stump, swatting her on the backside before setting her on the ground, "What have we told you about playing with boys, young lady?"  
When no answer was forth coming, the woman, whom Raistlin assumed was Marta's mother, directed her to the stairs leading up to one of the houses, "In your room, now," the command was punctuated with a another swat. Marta complied, but not before sticking her tongue out at her playmates. In doing so her gaze leveled on him, and she cocked her head curiously, almost as if asking him a silent question. Raistlin had time to do nothing but nod his head before her mother tracked her gaze to the stranger dressed in black, riding a black stallion. She made a half-garbled sound before hustling her daughter upstairs, casting furtive glances at him.  
Raistlin sighed before continuing on to his brother's home. From the look on her face, you would think he was about to roast the little girl on a spit.  
  
Caramon was pulling the loaves out of the oven when two screeching bundles began to play around his legs, using them as shields for the others attacks. He smiled as he watched his two sons toddling around, Tanin more sturdy on his legs than his brother, though Sturm was almost as fast. He waited until his sons ran through the large double doors that lead to the common room before continuing on his way to the large oak table that dominated the middle of the kitchen. Otik had boasted that the table was a gift from a fairy in exchange for a large serving of his spiced potatoes. Caramon brushed it off as one of Otik's tales, though he had learned that there was some truth to the old mans words when he was spinning a tale. He'd almost swallowed his tongue when Tika confirmed what became known as the Kender Fiasco.  
Though why someone would trust a kender with a love potion was beyond him.  
When all six loaves were placed side by side on the table Caramon began spreading a liberal amount of butter on each. Tika had been tickled beyond belief when he told her he wanted to learn how to bake, and more than a little skeptical. But to her surprise her husband was an excellent student, which served them well on the days when getting out of bed proved to be an impossibility for her.  
  
That was how Raistlin found him, bending over loaves, carefully spreading them with butter as he hummed to himself. Though his brothers back was to him he could almost see the small smile Caramon would be wearing. The simplest things had the capability to fascinate him, and for most of his life Raistlin had been unable to see why. Now that he knew, he wouldn't trade that knowledge for the world.  
"Does Tika know what you're up to?" Raistlin asked, lifting one snowy eyebrow.  
The speed with which Caramon turned was enough to send melted butter flying in an arc, which landed just short of Raistlins boots. The sight of his brother standing there, spreader in hand, wearing an apron, with his mouth open, was enough to make him laugh.   
Caramon looked from his brother to the spreader, which still dripped butter, before sheepishly putting it on the table. In two bounds he was across the room, hugging Raistlin so hard he could feel his bones creaking under the pressure.  
"Raist!" Caramon squeezed harder, bringing a cough that was part exasperation, part pain, from his brother.  
"I do like to breathe, my brother," Raistlin said, patting his brother on the shoulder.  
Almost immediately he was released. "You've put on weight," Caramon said, remembering the feel of the smooth muscles concealed by his brother's baggy clothes.  
Raistlin laughed, "So have you," he answered, glancing pointedly at his brother's middle, which was beginning to protrude ever so slightly.  
Caramon pulled up the apron, effectively hiding his stomach from view, "Someone has to test the cooking."  
Raistlin shook his head. No matter what, his brother would never change. " So Tika has you working in the kitchen now?"  
Caramon humphed, " If I don't, she finds a way to sneak in here and do things."  
"And if I didn't you would have run this place into the ground a long time ago." Tika said, coming up behind Raistlin. " Its good to see you again," she said, turning her glance to her brother in law.  
"Likewise," he answered, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He could feel her surprise, but it didn't bother him. For as long as she'd known him he abhorred physical contact. Hugs and kisses were something she had never associated with him, but now he took them easily, and even returned them. He stepped back and let his gaze wander over her. Despite everything she still had the blush of youth to her, even though there was a telltale softening in the flesh around her eyes. She, like Caramon, had hardly changed.  
Before they could say anything more the double doors swung open, two red headed children clamboring over each other to reach their mother.  
"Mommy, someone has their horse teethered," Tanin began before he was swept to the side by his younger brother.  
"Its big and black, and it looks like a traveler,"  
At almost the same moment they became aware of the stranger standing with their mother and father. Though they rarely saw him, they knew him from the numerous stories their father told.  
"UNCLE RAIST!" Before he could do anything, he found himself almost knocked to the floor by sixty pounds worth of children.  
By the time Caramon was able to disentangle is brother from his sons Rebecca was making her way through the back door. Taking one look at the entire assembly she promptly turned and went back out.  
"REBECCA!! Get yourself in here!" Tika yelled over the laughing that dominated the room.  
A brown head swiveled around the door, "Is it safe?"  
Tika laughed as Raistlin picked himself up off the floor with his brothers help, "As safe as it ever is."  
  
  
  



	3. 

Title: Bright Shining Dark

Title: Bright Shining Dark

Disclaimer: Nope, they arent mine so don't sue.

Caramon was barely able to separate his children from his brother before they were on him again, asking him to show them how to make coins disappear. Raistlin complied, and soon the two boys were watching in rapt fascination as their uncle made a steel coin dance between his fingers, gasping in pleasure when it disappeared into thin air, then reappeared behind their ears. Vividly, he recalled the time when he and his friends disguised themselves as carnival people to move easily through occupied territory during the War. Raistlin had worn the same small smile of pleasure then as he was now, though now the expression reached his eyes as well.

'He always did love performing,' Caramon thought to himself as he went into the kitchen to make tea. Several times in their lives Raistlin had taken to simple illusions and 'kender tricks' as sleight of hand was known, to provide them with food and shelter. They seemed to be the only times that the frail, sickly young man had ever truly been at peace with himself.

"Thinking about past times, my brother?" 

Caramon jumped, then turned around sheepishly as his brother walked into the kitchen. " Just drifting, Raist. Nothing important."

Raistlin nodded, lifting a mug off the rack of drying dishes and filling it from a kettle hung over the hearth. " The past is always important, Caramon," he said patiently, "Without it, we are all lost."

Caramon turned the cryptic words over in his mind for a moment, " Without it, we wouldn't be here," he finally said, almost to himself.

"That is what I said," Raistlin said, old impatience slipping into his tone, before he let it go.

Caramon began to walk out the backdoor, and for a moment Raistlin feared that he had wounded his brother before he heard him say, "It's a nice night out. Care to join me?"

He took a moment to add some hibiscus leaves and honey to his cup before joining Caramon on the balcony that wrapped around the inn. The sun had set, and the stars that shone through the trees were bright diamonds against the indigo velvet of the sky,

"Your son is blessed with good fortune," Raistlin said after a moment, watching as the moons began to rise over the horizon. Though he couldn't see the orbs, he could make out the shifting of the red glow of Lunitari. "The day he was born falls one week before the Great Eye will be seen, a day in which all debts are cleared from the previous year. Spring Dawning." He sighed, staring into his cup. " I suppose they celebrated the coming of spring with the usual abandon this year?"

Caramon laughed, suddenly back to the time a few weeks ago, when he and Rebecca were struggling to keep up with the crowd that invariably gathered around the first of Mishamont, Spring Dawning, as the elven called it, the official start of spring. Between keeping his customers in food and ale, watching over Tika, and keeping Earwig from picking every pocket in sight, he'd had his hands full. "You could say that. Spring sessions have begun for the school," the large man turned his eyes on his brother, "I thinks there's a rumor that its shutting down unless they can find someone to take it from Theobold. The man has one foot in the grave as it is."

An undignified 'humph' came from the man next to him, " I suppose the people of Solace are breathing a collective sigh of relief that its leaving?"

Caramon shook his head, "you'd think that, but its not. A lot of kids go there now, more than when you were in school." He shook his head, "There's even this one little girl-"

"Girls go to another school near Palanthas," Raistlin cut in, " They cannot attend the same school as boys, the training is different."

Caramon shrugged, "She goes anyway, though from what I've heard Theobold threw a fit large enough to kill him when they asked. Good thing too," he added, " I was scared she'd hurt someone if they didn't let her attend."

Raistlin's head came up sharply, "Hurt someone, my brother? A child?"

Caramon nodded, his expression darkening. " When they moved in, they kept her inside most of the time, until people began to talk. Nothings wrong with her, she just…" he trailed off, "Remember the night of the Eye when we were little, when you had that fit?"

Raistlin's eyes glazed over for the barest of moment, "Well I remember it," he answered.

"It was like that, only it wasn't the Night of the Eye," he shook his head, " Last summer her mother came screaming into the inn, yelling that her daughter was dying. Some of the mages followed her to her home, we had two staying that night. When they came back… the last time I saw someone that pale was when Dalamar was dying in the tower."

Caramon shook himself before continuing, "From what they said, the little girl was tearing herself inside out. Too much power without enough training, they said. She left with them to the Tower, if that's where they were headed."

"Who were they?"

"Two white robes, you'll probably see them, they come through Solace around this time of year like clockwork. Bentahs and Syllfain. They brought her back a few months later. Since then, she hasn't had an attack like that . That's why they let her attend the school."

This added to Raistlin's interest in looking into the school, but he stored the information away for a later time. "If I might be so bold as to ask to see my nephew?"  
That request brought a swift smile to Caramon's face, "Right this way."

Raistlin wadded through his older nephews, promising to tell them tales of his adventures before they went to sleep. So many things have changed, he mused to himself as he followed his brother to the small room adjacent to his that served as a nursery. Years ago, thinking of doing things this simple would never have crossed his mind, telling tales to children, staying with his brother. Now, they were imbued with a subtle grace, something cherished.

"Here he is, Raist." Caramon said quietly.

Raistlin looked into the crib at the small sleeping form there. The boy was chubby, like most children, but there was still a leanness about him that would influence his build as he grew. 

As if sensing someone thinking about him, the child opened his eyes and looked at the two men standing over him without fussing, only blinking bemusedly, as if wondering what they wanted with him. His eyes locked with Raistlin's for brief seconds before returning to his fathers and giving him a toothless smile and a laugh.

"Awake already are we?" he asked, picking up the boy as if he were fine china. "Couldn't wait to meet your Uncle Raist, could you?" 

Said person was quietly leaving the room, casting one furtive glance back at the two before heading to his own room.

Raistlin was up before the sun rose the next morning, bathed and dressed when the first hints of sunlight challenged the night, and heading to the kitchen before the golden orb made its way over the horizon. He stopped at the door to the kitchen when he saw Tika standing over the large table there, kneading bread dough with a vengeance, talking to the small basket next to her.

"Gas indeed," she said aloud to the room, "She wouldn't know gas if she was struck with a sudden bought of it!"  
"I take it Weird Megan has been passing on her pearls of wisdom," Raistlin said, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water from the barrel near the door.

"Wisdom my left foot," Tika humphed, turning over the dough and pounding the other side with enough gusto to make him smile, " He only smiles for me and Caramon, no one else. Tell me that's gas."

Raistlin raised an eyebrow, "On the other hand, it could speak ill of his thoughts on his family."

It took Tika all of five seconds to react to that statement, two seconds to understand his meaning, two seconds to glare, and one second to grab the heavy skillet that sat on the stove.

Her brother-in-law threw up his hands in mock surrender, "Please, Tika, forgive. A bad joke on my part."

For a moment it appeared that forgiveness would have to wait until he had taken at least one hit, then she put the pan down with a heavy clang, " Caramon would kill me if you ended up with bruises."

"I assure you I can take care of myself," he said, "Though I will admit that you would be less attractive as a toad."

Tika laughed, "Didn't you threaten Tas with something like that years ago?"

Raistlin grinned, "Leave it to me to find a threat that would discourage a kender." His expression darkened for a moment, "Is Tasselhoff coming to the christening?"

Tika shrugged before returning to her kneading, " I wouldn't know. We sent him an invitation, the same with Tanis and Goldmoon, but they assured us that they would be here. They have a young son as well."

The sadness in her tone alerted Raistlin, "What?"

Tika sighed, "A few years ago he started having these headaches, really bad ones. The pain was so harsh that he threw up, couldn't stand light. Tanis said he even passed out a few times. It's a hard thing for a ten year old to bear, pain like that." she sighed again, "Tanis and Laurana have worried themselves over it, even sent him to healers of Paladin, but nothing has worked."

Raistlin paled slightly under her tale, remembering a time when he himself had trekked for years trying to find a cure for the curses placed on him by his Test, years spent trailing half murmured myths and legends, all to no avail.

"I think they're planning on bringing him with them if they come, but I can't say."

Before Raistlin could answer he heard a noise in the front room. Tika had opened the door for the day to allow air to travel through the inn, and now someone was walking through it, quietly, with something else walking near them, something not human. He held up a hand at Tika's questioning glance, and headed for the room.

"Is anyone awake?" The voice made him stop before he ever saw the face, it was a voice he had heard all to often in his dreams. Collecting himself, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped into the common room.

She hadn't changed much over the years, Raistlin mused. She still had the same marble skin and fine features that would look haughty if it were not for their stillness and the gentleness that came off her in waves.

A menacing growl broke his revere, and he looked into the eyes of a large white tiger, held on a chain that was looped around her wrist. The cat watched him with an intelligence that belayed its feline nature.

The woman turned towards the sound, white dress streaming, and Raistlin almost cringed when her sightless eyes swept over his form. " Who is there?" the voice held authority now.

"It is good to see you again, Revered Daughter," Raistlin said quietly.


	4. Friends Old and New

Crysania listened to the surrounding wildlife as she entered the town of Solace, still buried beneath layers of sleep. She could feel the sun beginning to chase the dregs of night away, and she turned her sightless eyes to the east, recalling the vivid pinks and blues from her past. Vividly, she recalled her last journey to this place, in search of a guide to the High Tower of Sorcery. Lifetimes had come and gone since those days, yet the town had changed only slightly, at least as far as her sense of smell was concerned. Fresh in the air was the smell of baking bread, tinged slightly with the winter smells coming off Crystalmir Lake. Above her she could hear the sounds of people moving along the many bridges that connected the town, and in the distance, the sound of a forgers hammer hitting rhythmically against metal. Briefly, she wondered what the town looked like, then pushed the thought aside. Coming to terms with her blindness had taken time, and wishing for what she would never have again would only dig up memories better left buried.

A soft growl alerted her to the fact that she had arrived. Sliding carefully off the large roan that carried her, Crysania carefully felt her way to the hitch, where she could feel another horse already tethered. A slight thump against her side was all the warning she got as the strange horse sought her attention.

"Aren't you a handsome man," She said, lightly rubbing the horses nose. From the set of his eyes, and the feel of his coat, she knew the horse was purebred, and she could feel the strength beneath his warm flanks.

Seemingly satisfied with the small attention, the horse turned his head, and Crysania almost laughed. If she hadn't known better, she would think she was dismissed.

A soft growl at her side and a pressure against her legs recalled her to the present, " I know, Mylan*, I'm coming." Without another word the woman took hold of the long silver chain that extended from the collar around the white tigers neck, and started up the long, winding staircase to where her friends would be waiting.

____________________________________________________________________

Raistlin and Crysania stood frozen for long moments, both seeming unsure of what to do next. Years had gone by since they'd seen each other last, and both could feel the weight of everything that was unsaid between them hanging in the air.

Crysania took a deep breath, drawing in the scents of the room. Loudest among them was the smell baking bread wafting from the kitchen. Beneath that was the scent of lye soap used to wash the tables, and far fainter still was the smell she was searching for, but it was off. The scents of rose-petals, herbs, and the slightly decayed smell she had come to associate with him during their travels together was gone, replaced by the scent of soap. The voice was the same, as was his presence, an almost tangible force that one did not need eyes to see, but that too was changed. The sense was still there, but the power behind it was missing, leaving her slightly off kelter.

"I see the years have treated you kindly," Raistlin said, eyes locking with her companions. The tiger inclined his head, an all too human gesture, and he approached, "Wont you please sit."

The feel of a warm hand on hers drew Crysania from the trance she had entered.

"Yes, thank you," She said faintly, then chided herself. Here she was, entering her middle years, leader of the Clerics of Paladine, and the mere touch of one mans hand had her quivering like an untried virgin.

//But you are dear, don't you remember?//

Chrysania blinked, fighting the urge to shake her head. She hated that small voice, the willful side of herself that managed to land her in more trouble than it was worth. Though she had managed to get it under something resembling control since joining the clerics so long ago.

Something swatted at her ankle, and she turned her eyes to Mylan, wishing for a moment that she could glare at him. By Paladine, sometimes she thought there was more than a simple animal hiding under that soft fur.

"It is good to know that you are well, Raistlin Majere." She said, trying to collect herself. "I have heard very little about you since our last meeting."

Raistlin grimaced. Last meeting was a nice sugar coating for what had happened the last time he had been within ten feet of her. "There has been very little to tell, Revered Daughter," he answered, "My life has become very simple since my last attempt at world domination." The words were spoken lightly, but behind them she could hear a faint hint of bitterness. In fact, she took a moment simply to listen to him. The voice was the same, but it no longer held the lilting whisper that had so entranced her at their first meeting. Gone was the rattle, a sound like dry leaves scrapping on cobblestones, when he talked. His voice was steady, sure, nothing like she remembered.

"How have the years treated you, Raistlin?" she asked suddenly.

The sigh was faint, but it was there, "The have not, Chrysania. I have been in a stasis of sorts, moving neither forward nor back. But I have preferred it that way. It leaves me much time for contemplation."

Chrysania nodded. Well she knew those times. She'd spent the better part of a year in that same unmoving state while adjusting to her lack of sight and new position as High Cleric. "You sound almost as if you wish it would end."

"Quite the contrary. Time has seen fit to ignore me, and I am more than happy to extend the favor."

"Raistlin, could you" Tika stopped short, baby in hand, when she saw Chrysania, "Thank goodness! We've been expecting you for days! Caramon was going to organize a search party if you didn't show soon."

Raistlin forced himself to breathe has Chrysania smiled at Tika, a smile that was full of unreserved warmth. "I appreciate Caramon's protectiveness, though it would have been unnecessary. Before I left the sisters gave me a gift to ensure my safety."

It was then that Tika noticed the large snowy shape that curled protectively at Chrysania's feet, jewel eyes locked on hers with an intelligence that was startling. Instinctively, her arms tightened around her child.

"Do not worry, Tika," Raistlin cut in, seeing the sudden fear in her eyes, "The Revered Daughter's companion is quite gentle, and posses no threat to those who wish her no harm."

As if to prove that statement wrong, the tiger suddenly uncoiled, standing to its full height before settling down on his haunches, eyes still locked on Tika. Raistlin followed that gaze and noticed with no little amount of interest that it wasn't Tika the tiger was staring at.

It was the child in her arms.

Chrysania broke the uneasy silence that had descended upon them, "This is ridiculous. Mylan, I don't know what you're doing, but behave yourself. He really is harmless, Tika, he's simply protective."

Tika watched open mouthed as what could only be called annoyance passed over the tiger's face as he swung his huge head to look at his mistress. When his eyes returned to her, she noticed that the strange intelligence that had simmered there was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined it.

"Well, now that that's settled, Raistlin, would you please watch your nephew while I place the morning loaves in the oven?"

Raistlin was not given the chance to argue as the basket was placed in his arms, Tika almost running back to the kitchen. 

"She was not willing to give you time to argue, was she?"

Raistlin scowled at the grinning cleric, wondering if she would mind spending half the day as a kitten to match her companion. The growl from said companion was warning enough not to entertain the idea any further.

At that moment the small bundle yawned, opening his eyes to stare at his uncle. Pale iris eyes that were almost an identical match staring into his own. For a moment he wondered if this was what his child might have looked at, if he'd had children: All leanness despite the baby fat, fingers already long grasping at the bedclothes.

"It appears my son already has another admirer," Caramon said from behind him, setting a light hand on Raistlin's shoulder.

"He will have many more before his life has run its course, my brother." Raistlin said, then shook himself. He could feel the strange disorientation that overcame him when he was Seeing trying to creep up on him. He'd told Tanis more than once that his mother's gift was not his own, but he'd lied. He had inherited it, but unlike Rosamun, he refused to let it rule his life.

Caramon's voice broke the revere that had come over him, "It is good to see you well, Revered Daughter." He said, and Raistlin wondered at the formality. His brother usually didn't know how to be formal.

Chrysania smiled, "It is good to be well, Caramon Majere. I hope that my lateness did not disturb you overmuch." 

Caramon shook his head, before striding forward and taking the small woman in a body hug, "Not at all, Chrysania, not at all." He looked down when a pointed growl alerted him to another presence. "I see the sisters provided for your safety."

Chrysania laughed, "A precaution that was uncalled for, apparently. The only danger I was in was of loosing the small cache of nuts I traveled with to an errant squirrel."


	5. What one Sees

Raistlin let himself drift into the background as Chrysania and Caramon began talking about the happenings in their lives, eventually making his way outdoors on to the terrace that ringed the Inn of the Last Home. Gently, he held the small basket that held his nephew. There had been a time in which he would never have felt it possible to do something so mundane. Almost as if entertaining the same thoughts, the child watched him, pale eyes taking in every move he made, quiet, unlike the many children he had seen during his life, almost unnaturally so. This one, he felt, would see things where others could not, attain knowledge that could shake the very stars themselves.

It was then that he felt it, a slight something that he had felt only once before. It happened on a long ago day, early in his training, in which he promised the gods everything he was in exchange for the power they would grant him. It was a gentle shoving, a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment it terrified him.

It was the hand of the gods.

He remembered the old mage who sent him to Theobold describing once how he has felt the same thing, a directing of the course of history, deliberately engineered. There had been times over the course of his life that he cursed that moment, wondered what might have become of him if he'd been nothing more than a simple woodcutters son. He had never truly had the choice, was chosen from the moment Kitaria had dragged him into the inn, telling him she was making sure he could take care of himself. His soul had been delivered into the forge that day, to be beaten and tempered into a sword that the gods would wield in the Dragon Wars.

And now it was happening again.

"What Fate has decided for you, I do not know. But you will come out the victor, despite the double pain of loss. That much I can See." Raistlin whispered.

The Hand pressed harder, and Raistlin understood the warning. He would be unable to protect his nephew from what he saw, or face the wrath of all the gods. Once he would have laughed, taken the challenge with the firm belief that he would be the victor. Now, he had neither the passion nor the drive to invite such a battle.

//You can lift your Hand, I will not fight his fate// Raistlin thought. Almost immediately, it eased.

"Showing him the beauty of the morning, Raist?"

Gathering his thoughts, Raistlin turned, handing Caramon his child, "Allowing you and Chrysania to speak of me without my presence tempering your words."

Caramon blushed. It never ceased to amaze him how his brother could seem so unaware of what was happening around him, yet pick up on everything that you did not wish him to see. "She didn't want to bore you, Raist. I didn't tell her much."

Raistlin nodded, moving past his brother and into the Inn, passing an irate Tika who screamed, "What in the name of the Abyss do you think your doing taking my baby outside in this weather Caramon?!"

__________________________________________________________________

Raistlin stayed only long enough to grab his cloak and change the soft sandals he wore in the morning for riding boots. The morning was not far advanced, and he hoped to reach the school in time to watch some of Theobolds students before they were excused for lunch.

It took only moments before Raistlin found himself away from the familiar sights and sounds of Solace and onto Thieves Road, steadily traveling east. He remembered walking the distance to and from his classes everyday until winter, when he was allowed to remain at the school to keep him from traveling the long distance in the snow on foot. He grimaced, remembering his classmates and their vicious taunts. He had been unwanted and unappreciated for the most part of his training. A somber, quiet child who had seen far too much of life for someone his age.

Hard on those thoughts came other memories of childhood, memories that he did not dwell on often. Both he and Caramon had grown up poor. He recalled Kit from those days, a young woman burning inside with a need that she could not contain, a flame that would eventually destroy her. Ziada, a girl who might have stolen his heart if not for his fear. Gilon, a father that he had never really known, and who had never known him. An image flashed in his mind, the delivery of dried flowers from Weird Megan, watching as his father breathed his last. The smell of lavender still had the power to make him sick.

Rosamun.

Of all the losses that he had suffered, hers was the worst he'd endured. The decades that had passed since did not lessen the sting of her death. No matter what he had been told, no matter what he said, he still blamed himself for what happened. He should never have trusted his mother with Judith, should have seen what was behind her desperate plea when she begged him not to return to the mage school. He had seen only her clinging need, and a fear that if he did not continue his studies, he would end up like her, being eaten alive by his own power, unable to live a whole life. He still felt that there was something he could have done to bring her back. In the end, she'd slipped away as quietly as she lived, leaving nothing more than a whisper.

Raistlin shook himself, ripping the thoughts from his mind, shoving them back into the dark corners of his mind where he kept them. They were his past, a past that he had broken almost all ties with. 

"What 'ave we here?"

The question brought Raistlin out of the daze he had entered. The voice came from his left, and was followed quickly by another on his right.

"A pretty pickin' looks to me."

He would have laughed if it were not so comical. Four men exited the trees in front of him, stopping his horse. They were ragged, dirty, and looked as if none of them had bathed in weeks. Their clothing was coarse, woolen leggings that had seen better days and what remained of vests no doubt taken from other victims. He sighed. He was halfway between the school and Solace, shrouded by the forest on all sides. Apparently these men had not been in the area long. The Thieves Road bore its name only from the aftermath of the Cataclysm, just as Solace did, in which robbers had run wild, taking advantage of the main route between the small village and Haven. No real thieves had plied it for over fifty years. Any who dared were often hunted down quickly by the inhabitants of Solace.

"I suggest you let me pass."

The four laughed, and Raistlin almost smiled. They were not very bright, or his clothing, or the fact that he traveled alone and unarmed, would have warned them off. These four had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

Apparently they thought he was amusing, for the broke out laughing.

"An we suggest you 'ive us what'ers in your purse," The man who spoke seemed cleaner than the rest, and had spoken first. "Come to think of it, you should 'ive us the horse too." To punctuate this statement he pulled a beaten sword while another produced a rather old crossbow, already loaded.

Sighing, Raistlin slid from his horse. "Whatever you say, gentlemen."

Seemingly satisfied with their victims complacentness, one of the men jumped quickly onto the animal. "Gods, but he's a beauty," The man said.

In that instant, the horse reared, bucking and snapping at his new rider before taking off at breakneck speed, his rider holding on by the barest of margins.

"Stupid," Raistlin heard the man whisper, before his attention returned to him. "Lets hope you have something else for us then." He laughed, moving his sword to Raistlin's shoulder.

In a black blur, Raistlin moved. Before he could react, his would-be robber found himself disarmed and turned around, a silver dagger at his throat.

"Shoot him!" the man screeched to his companion, who seemed too afraid to move.

Raistlin didn't allow him the chance, flinging his accomplice at him with all his strength. The two men fell, the crossbow firing and lodging an arrow in a nearby tree.

Sighing, Raistlin placed the small dagger back in its sheath on his wrist before starting toward his now defenseless attackers, freezing them with a thought when they attempted to run.They stood, arms pinned to their sides, staring at him in disbelief and fear. Apparently neither had seen real magic before.

They were about to get a lesson they would not soon forget.

"I have always despised thieves," Raistlin said, arms folded across his chest, one finger tapping his lip, "They prey on the poor and defenseless, never thinking to get for themselves what they so easily take from others."

Raistlin gestured, and there were no longer two men standing before him. Instead, two toads sat on the ground, eyes wide.

"Shoo," He said, watching as the two hopped into the underbrush.

He waited a few minutes, until his horse returned, without his rider.

"You didn't kill him, did you Raven?" He asked, mounting easily.

The horse swung around and looked at him, and Raistlin laughed. "We had better be on our way."


	6. Past Meetings

     Raistlin smiled coldly as he approached the rambling buildings of Theobold's school. As a child most of his life had been spent behind those walls, hidden away in a world of strange letters and myths. Dismounting, he noted the crumbling walls of what once had been the dormitory. Now nothing but a gutted out shell remained, singed as if by fire.

     "Are you expected?" The timid question came from a doorway further down. A woman emerged, wearing an apron. Not the old hag who had served as Theobold's cook and house keeper while he'd attended. This one was younger, with a face just beginning to soften with age. She eyed him with suspicion and not a little fear.

     "No." He answered, coming to stand in front of her. " I am here to see Master Theobold. Tell him that one of his students has returned for a visit." He pulled back his hood, allowing the woman to see that he was no demon under his robes.

     The woman nodded, hurrying into the compound with only a backwards glance. He looked around the courtyard, something that had not existed while he was in attendance. Buildings stood on four sides, long, low structures that contained the everyday world of the learning mage. The center was dominated by a garden divided into twenty smaller plots, each in a different state of care. Twenty students then, double the number of his class at the start.

     "Master?" He turned, looking into the anxious face of the woman. "Master Theobold has one of his spells on the door, and I don't risk knocking." She cradled her hand, as if this lesson had been hard in the learning. "Gives a nasty shock, it does."

     Raistlin nodded, "Then I'll go in myself." 

     She nodded, before scurrying to what he assumed was the kitchens. Slowly, he approached the far right building, listening as the faint sounds of chanting came from the hall. Practice spells, then. He smiled as he listened to some of the students stumble over the more complex pronunciations, remembering his own trials, the need to make each syllable perfect to imbue the spell with magic.

     His musings were disturbed by a dull boom.

     The doors to the hall flew open, and students poured out, coughing and fanning their faces, some of where were lined with soot. Theobold came out last, his hand on the shoulder of a figure almost completely obscured by the black stuff.

     "If you do that again I'll put you on kitchen duty for the rest of your life!" He roared, age doing nothing to lesson his voice, "Now go see Sela about getting cleaned up."

     "Yes Master Theobold." The thin voice was tinted with laughter, and not a little disdain. The figure looked up when Raistlin approached, and he recognized the girl from Solace.

     Theobold followed her gaze, "Who are you? What do you want here?" He shoved the girl in the direction of the kitchens before hobbling forward.

     "Surely you have not forgotten a student, Theobold." Raistlin walked to the mage, stopping a few inches away. Age had not been kind to the old man, and he squinted before reaching into his robes to find a pair of spectacles. 

     "Student were you?" Theobold grumbled, peering up at Raistlin. He scanned the other mans face, taking in the black robes, the white hair…"Raistlin Majere?"

     Raist nodded, "It has been long, Theobold, since we last spoke. I'd hoped to surprise you, but it seems your hands are all ready full."

     Theobold hissed, "Damn that girl to the Abyss and back anyhow." His eyes turned to his students, who were milling about, watching their exchange with barely contained interest. "Off with you now!" He roared, "I want those gardens clear by the time a return! Not a single weed, am I understood?"

     The sighs were audible as the children went to do their teachers bidding. "A large class," Raistlin noted, watching as they haphazardly tore through their plots, pulling up weeds and a good deal of soil in the process.

     Theobold sighed, "Too large, to my reckoning, and barely a one of them has more potential than a street magician." He gestured, "Come, I'll have Marta bring tea."

     "Surely they are not as bad as that." Raist said, holding the door open to another building. This one contained a large living quarter, and Theobold settled into a chair with a heavy groan.

     "Yes, they can." He laughed, almost to himself, "Magic has become a commodity that everyone wants these days, thanks to you. I've had men as old as forty asking if they could learn. Poor Nian." He shook his head, "Had to send him to the tower. Man had no discipline, certainly not enough to listen to an old man."

     "And these?"

     "Children who would do better with wands made out of horses dung! Except for that girl…" Theobold laughed again, the sound rumbling through him as he pulled a bell cord. "Now that one, she reminds me of you, all drive and ambition, and no small amount of talent either."

     "I take it she was responsible?"

     The old mage frowned, "Responsible? For everything, in my opinion. You've seen the old quarters? She did that, first night she slept here. Conjured a fireball out of thin air, then almost died in the flames." He shook his head again, this time his expression sad. "Thank goodness the Council brought her talent to heel, or she'd kill herself given half the chance."

     Raistlin quirked one eyebrow, "Through no fault of her own, I'm sure?"

     Theobold gave him a hard look, "No, though there are times I'm not sure. She has potential, that one, perhaps too much for a woman."

     Before Raistlin could answer the girl came in, carrying a large tray and significantly cleaner, though her hair, which had been blond, was more of a dark gray. 

     "Put it down over there and finish getting cleaned up."

     Theobold began pouring the tea, " I'm sure you've heard the tales in the village by now if you stopped there."

     Raistlin nodded, "My brother seems to think I needed to know about her."

     An amused snort met his comment, "Everyone needs to know about her, at least to have time to get out of the way! Brings havoc wherever she goes, even with the binding the council placed on her. If I had my way, she'd be shipped off to Palanthas. Let the women deal with the brat."

     "Then why hasn't she gone?"

     Theobold sighed, looking into his tea, "They tried, once. Girl ran away the first chance she got, almost blinded one of the other students in the process when she snuck up on her." He stirred his tea, "No one wanted to deal with a student who was unruly, so she was packed back here. Not that she doesn't do all right."

     "So she can learn?"

     "Learn?" Theobold chuckled, " Soaks up knowledge like a sponge. She'd be ahead of her classmates if I let her. She doesn't go through what you did, Raistlin."

     The mage look up sharply, "What do you mean?"

     "The teasing, the picking on. They fear her too much for that, much like they did you after that incident with the nettles."

     Raistlin looked blank. Nettles?

     Theobold was puzzled, "You don't remember, do you? Switched bags with Jorin when you were supposed to show me plants you collected, gave him one full of nettles. Had a hell of a time getting him to stop howling."

     Suddenly, he was there, could remember the scream as Jorin's hand came in contact with the Burning Nettles, the glares from his classmates, and the grudging fear they developed that day. "I'd almost forgotten."

     The two drank their tea in silence, watching a fire as it danced on the hearth. Finally, Theobold spoke. "I'm getting much too old for this, you know." He looked out a window at his students, most of whom were doing more playing that gardening in their plots. "By rights I shouldn't even be allowed to anymore, but Solace has been one of our larger schools for years, though fewer mages travel through now."

     At that moment all the mans years seemed to settle on him, and Raistlin marveled at how old Theobold must be. Definitely beyond sixty by his count. "That is what I came to see you about."

     A dry laugh burst from the old man, "Want to take my place, do you, Raistlin Majere?" he sobered, "I'd hoped that someone would come, but can you imagine how many would be pulled from the school if a black robe were to become head master?" He sighed again, "But I fear we have little choice in the matter."

     "Why?"

     The old mage leaned forward, his gaze earnest. "Something is massing in the east. Something that has bothered the Council since the end of the war. No one knows what it is, but we can feel it when we cast, like a slithering beneath the skin. No one can be spared to look after the school, for all who can are busy elsewhere."

     Raistlin nodded, "Then it seems you've just received the help you desired."

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Thank you for reading!!!!! Hope you enjoyed!!!! Please, leave a donation in the feedback box on your way out!!! Suggestions are always welcome, and if I've screwed up somewhere, let me know!!!!!!


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